


Normal Guys

by Ignaz Wisdom (ignaz)



Category: Blades of Glory (2007)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-27
Updated: 2007-06-27
Packaged: 2017-10-01 23:28:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignaz/pseuds/Ignaz%20Wisdom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>A few days later, he borrows Coach's car and drives into town to rent Chazz's porno movie.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Normal Guys

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to kittehkat for telling me where it needed just a little more, and to thesamefire for bravery in the face of Will Ferrell porn. *g*

Jimmy had never kissed a girl. Not until Katie Van Waldenberg, at least. Girls, his father had always explained, were not conducive to creating winners. Girls were dirty, germ-ridden distractions: festering pools of viruses, just waiting to strike a future medalist with illness, or worse, a crush.

Chazz has kissed girls. If rumor and Chazz's massive ego are to be believed, there is very little that Chazz hasn't done with girls, and very few girls he hasn't done. Women, really. There's nothing girlish about the women on Chazz's dance card.

Jimmy, to his dismay, finds this aspect of his new skating partner perversely fascinating. He has watched Chazz with horrified curiosity from the first time he set eyes on him in Helsinki, soaring across the rink to a crass AC/DC tune like a giant erection on ice skates.

Now that they're skating together every day -- sharing bunk beds, even -- it's easier to observe Chazz. It's also far riskier. Chazz is with him nearly every moment of every day, and despite his reputation, Chazz is not nearly as self-centered as Jimmy had thought. In fact, Chazz seems _interested_ in Jimmy, as a scientific specimen or maybe as a circus sideshow, so it's sometimes hard to elude Chazz's own curiosity. It's like being in a sci-fi movie, with aliens studying human beings like laboratory rats, except that at this point in his life, Jimmy honestly isn't sure which one of them is from outer space.

One day, during a brief respite from practice, Jimmy finds himself in Coach's study, going over the scarce pages of Chazz's book of poetry. Most of them seem to involve breasts. All are loaded with crude euphemisms, some of which fly over his head. Jimmy isn't entirely sure what the pleasure caverns and bearded clams are, but he can hazard a guess. There are also some lines about snakes, rods, and love muscles, and one penile metaphor that he's pretty sure Chazz stole from _This Is Spinal Tap_, which Jimmy watched for the first time last year. Chazz's book makes sex sound kind of like a cartoon.

There are lines that make Jimmy's breath catch and his face feel hot, but he doesn't linger over them.

He re-shelves the book and manages to escape before anyone can catch him looking at it. He laughs at himself a little, thinking about how silly it was to go looking for that book. Like he actually wants to know _more_ about Chazz -- it's ridiculous.

He goes back to their room and reads _People_ magazine.

A few days later, he borrows Coach's car and drives into town to rent Chazz's porno movie.

He wears very large, very dark sunglasses, and a hat that covers most of his hair. The bored clerk at the adult video emporium just glances at his ID and doesn't even bother to look at his face.

As it turns out, the store doesn't rent, but Jimmy can purchase the video for $39.95.

He waits until both Chazz and Coach are out of the cabin for the evening, then he goes into the living room, puts the DVD in the player, and sits on the couch, forcing himself not to cover his eyes. He keeps the remote right next to his hand, just in case they come back early. In his head, he plots what he'll do if he hears the car pull up. He's pretty sure he can stop the DVD, dash across the room to eject it, and hide the disc under his shirt before either Coach or Chazz can arrive on the scene.

It's not a very good movie. The dialog is pretty cheesy, and Jimmy has a hard time believing that those actresses really mean it when they gush about how hot Chazz's skating makes them. They just seem to be over-selling it. Chazz is no thespian, either, and when he invites the trio of women to the warm-down room to "heat things up," Jimmy winces a little at the delivery.

He forgets all that, though, when the clothes start coming off. Suddenly his throat is dry and he feels frozen to the couch, unable to tear his eyes away from the screen, much as he may want to do so.

He's seen Chazz's penis, of course. They live together and share a bathroom, and sometimes guys pee in front of each other, or sleep naked in the same room -- this is normal, Chazz assures him. Having never really been a "normal guy," Jimmy has to rely on Chazz's vast experience for a lot of these things, no matter how much he might want to reject Chazz's slovenly and occasionally shocking habits. Chazz is very comfortable whipping it out in front of Jimmy and anyone else around. Jimmy has seen Chazz in various states of undress, probably many more times than necessary.

But not like this. Never like this.

On the screen, Chazz is reclining on a bench, still mostly clothed, but with his pants open. He is hard -- Jimmy has never seen it hard before, although he has heard some shuffling and moaning from the top bunk on a few late nights, and he's smart enough to put two and two together -- and actually, Chazz is kind of _huge_. Jimmy almost turns the video off right then, because there's something deeply, seriously wrong with him checking out Chazz's package and thinking about how, um, _well-packaged_ he is down there. His dick is long, thick, and blood-dark, standing with the kind of confidence and bravado Chazz has always emulated in his performances.

His _skating_ performances.

Two of the women from the DVD cover are kneeling in front of Chazz, taking aggressive turns at -- ugh, _licking_ Chazz, _sucking_ him, even. Jimmy reflects that their fathers obviously never explained to them about germs, because they're wrapping their tongues around Chazz's erection with well-played enthusiasm, licking Chazz's penis like it's a popsicle. Chazz is clearly enjoying it, too. "Oh, yeah," Jimmy hears him whisper, and then the camera, which has mostly been staying on Chazz's erection, pans to his face as he moans gutturally, his cheeks flushed, his eyes smoldering.

Jimmy swallows and digs his nails into the sofa cushions.

The scene changes abruptly; now the focus is on the trio of women, who appear entangled in a passionate embrace, legs everywhere. They're pleasuring each other with fingers and tongues, gasping and moaning. Jimmy's fingers itch, first for his bottles of antibacterial gel and Listerine, and second for his notebook and pen. Unhygienic or not, if things go well with Katie, he might need to know this stuff. Maybe Chazz could give him some pointers, he thinks, as the man himself steps back into the scene, joining the knot of limbs and bare flesh.

Jimmy tells himself he's interested in the women, but there are so many of them, and their mask-like faces and artificial breasts quickly blend together and fade from his attention until all he can look at is -- Chazz. Chazz, whose body Jimmy has been learning almost as well as his own over these last few weeks of training and living together. The resemblance isn't perfect -- Chazz is younger in the video, still a professional figure skater, an _athlete_ \-- but he's familiar just the same. The tattoos, the softness around the middle, the hair -- everything is familiar. This is the guy who sleeps above Jimmy every night and skates with him every day, whose hands have been all over Jimmy's body -- his clothed body -- the guy who Jimmy is slowly learning to trust.

This guy is also naked. Naked and _aroused_. Chazz isn't just turned on, which isn't such a big deal, really, since Chazz has built an entire skating career out of wanting sex, and Jimmy's been watching him the whole time. He's _actually having sex_. Jimmy is watching him have sex.

With gusto.

Chazz is putting it to the buxom blonde from behind, his hands on her hips, biting his lower lip, when Jimmy hears the front door slam and his heart stops. Immediately, instinctively, he reaches for the stop button on the remote, the one that will make the screen go blue and silent.

It doesn't work. The rebellious flat screen still shows Chazz having sex. The speakers continue to serenade Jimmy with the wet sounds of flesh slapping against flesh and the women's high-pitched moans. Frantically, he presses the button again, but it's useless. The film plays on.

Jimmy bolts from the couch, still pressing hard on the button, and he manages to block part of the television screen with his body just as Chazz walks into the living room -- just as the blonde screams, "Fuck me! _Fuck me harder!_"

Heat travels up the back of his neck, engulfing his face in hot flames. He wants to die. He wants a bolt of lightning to come down from the sky and strike him dead, so he doesn't have to spend even one more second listening to Chazz's low moans from the surround sound speakers or looking at the real Chazz's face.

But he doesn't die, and three seconds later, Chazz tosses his coat onto a chair, says admiringly, "Hey, man, nice choice," and sprawls onto the couch to watch himself have sex. He waves an irritated hand at Jimmy. "Move."

Jimmy does, because he can't think of anything else to do -- he can't think at all. He takes a step to the side and stands next to the screen, still feeling shell-shocked, still kind of hoping that that bolt of lightning will arrive any second.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, little MacElroy," Chazz says, watching the screen in rapture. "I'm a love god -- many have sought to learn from my vast experience." He spares Jimmy a glance and then pats the sofa cushion next to him. "Let The Chazz be your sensei."

His mouth dry, his brain still frozen, Jimmy does the only thing he can do: he crosses the room and takes the seat Chazz has just offered. After all, Chazz _offered_. And Chazz is a normal guy, right? This is something normal guys do, right?

He gingerly sits down, looking to Chazz for something -- reassurance that this is okay, that this isn't a joke -- but the instant Chazz turns to look at him, Jimmy's head jerks back, twisting away to look at anything but Chazz's face. Except that when he turns, the first thing he sees is the TV screen, which is currently featuring a shot of Chazz's penis.

There's no escaping him. He's _everywhere_ \-- and suddenly Jimmy recognizes this as his problem. There is simply too much Chazz in Jimmy's life. If it's not the poetry, it's the porn, and if it's not the porn, it's Chazz's face leering from the front cover of _US Magazine_. It's Chazz above him in his bunk at night, in the bathroom with him in the morning, at the table for nearly every meal, with his hands all over Jimmy's body when they're out there on the ice ...

Jimmy glances over at his partner again. Slowly, like he's underwater, Chazz turns his head and looks Jimmy right in the eye.

They both turn back to the television screen.

Up on the TV, Chazz's doppelganger is preparing to penetrate a different model, this one a brunette. To get himself ready, he's touching himself, stroking up and down the length of his erection, which swells and hardens at the motion of his hand. It's shiny at the tip and the head is round and full.

The camera cuts to a scene of Chazz sliding his erection into -- oh, god, into the brunette's ass. There's no way that's going to fit, no way Chazz can do that without causing some major damage, but the woman just moans her head off like there's nothing better in the world than having Chazz Michael Michaels do her in the ass ... which Jimmy seriously doubts is true. Not that he would know.

Jimmy realizes, with abject horror, that he is hard. That, in fact, Chazz is also hard. Every molecule of Jimmy's body is telling him to get up and leave the room as quickly as possible, to jump into a cold shower and pretend that none of this just happened. They're watching Chazz's porno and sporting wood. This is dirty. This is not okay. This is -- _Chazz_.

_Move_, Jimmy thinks, but it's like he's been welded to the couch. He can't budge. He doesn't even have any air in his lungs to voice a protest.

Not even when he looks up and discovers that Chazz has made this same realization. He's staring at Jimmy's crotch, eyes wide and a little unfocused. Then his gaze moves up to Jimmy's face.

Jimmy feels a sweat break out on his skin, making his palms clammy and his cheeks hot. Chazz is looking at him like a predator -- _wolfishly_, some part of his brain supplies. Chazz looks like he wants to _eat Jimmy alive_. Chazz is looking at Jimmy like he just ordered a cheeseburger and got the filet mignon instead.

Chazz is the first to break their impromptu staring contest. Jimmy follows Chazz's gaze as he looks back at his own lap with its impossible-to-ignore bulge.

_Go_, urges the last part of Jimmy's brain interested in self-preservation. _Get up and go away._ But he doesn't, not even when Chazz unfastens his pants, shifts on the couch, and pulls his dick out.

Not even when Chazz reaches over and unbuttons Jimmy's pants, carefully opening them without ever coming in direct contact with Jimmy's erection.

And when Chazz brings both his hands back to his own lap and starts to jerk himself off, Jimmy is amazed to find himself doing the exact same thing.

He's done this before, of course, but always in the dark, always in absolute silence, always under the cover of sheets and pants and his own underwear, and _always_ alone. There are decades of shame tied to this dirty, unhygienic, impure thing, but he's doing it, he's doing it right now on Coach's sofa, with less than a foot between himself and Chazz. And Chazz's hard-on, which kind of deserves its own billing.

Jimmy peers over at Chazz's groin, where his hand is moving confidently, stroking himself from root to tip, thumb occasionally brushing over the head. His legs are spread as wide as his favorite pair of tight leather pants will allow, and his other hand is further down, fondling his balls. Chazz does this differently than he does, and Jimmy can tell right away what that difference is. There's no shame in this for Chazz. There's no self-consciousness in it, no self-loathing, just raw, unapologetic sexuality. Chazz does this like he's proud to be doing it, and again Jimmy is reminded of the way Chazz moves on the ice, the way Chazz does _everything_ \-- like he doesn't know what modesty even _means_.

All at once it hits Jimmy. This is what has been plaguing him all along, from the first time he saw Chazz and at every juncture after, right up until Chazz stole his gold medal at Stockholm and then got them both banned from single's figure skating. When it comes to attitude -- when it comes to _sex_ \-- Chazz is everything Jimmy's not and never will be. Chazz is cocky, always sure of himself, always radiating sexuality, and finally Jimmy can't stand it anymore, so in a fit of blind envy and rage, he leans over, grabs Chazz by his stupid horse-shampooed hair, and just plants one right on his mouth.

He doesn't know what he's doing, of course. He doesn't know how to kiss -- but he also doesn't know how to throw a punch, or how to slide across the ice with no clothes on, yet there's something about being around Chazz that makes him want to do crazy, dangerous things and damn the consequences. So he shoves Chazz and smashes their mouths together, and he's honestly a little relieved when Chazz makes it easier for him by smoothly taking over the kiss.

Chazz makes a noise like a muffled grunt and puts his hand in Jimmy's hair, scratching at Jimmy's scalp a little. It feels good. It feels even better when Chazz's other hand drifts to Jimmy's lap.

Suddenly Jimmy's hand isn't the only one inside his pants. His hand is completely dwarfed by Chazz's, and the contrast -- soft versus rough, cautious against demanding -- shocks him. Four strokes of Chazz's hand later and he's coming, back arching off the sofa, hand gripping Chazz's forearm and semen getting all over Chazz's hand and his own shirt.

He breathes, eyes closed. His face is hot, his body is tingling, and Chazz Michaels just gave him an orgasm. Distantly, he hears the slapping skin-on-skin sounds of the porn movie, still bravely playing on even though its audience has long since moved on to more interesting attractions. He opens his eyes and risks a glance over at Chazz.

Chazz, he finds, is still jerking himself off, fist tight on his dark erection, breathing hard -- and staring at Jimmy like he's never seen him before. Chazz's unused hand is gripping Jimmy's thigh.

Jimmy licks his dry lips and swallows, and Chazz throws his head back and comes. His dick pulses three times, making even more of a mess while Jimmy watches, and then Chazz sort of collapses, melting into the sofa cushions like the Wicked Witch of the West.

Grunts and groans continue to emanate from the television for a minute before Chazz, moving nothing but his arm, picks up the remote. The screen goes black and silent.

Now that it's over, Jimmy feels absolutely filthy. There's a swampy mess on his clothes and skin and the room practically reeks of sex. He wants to run to the bathroom and shower until the hot water turns his skin pink. He wants to bathe in a vat of antibacterial gel, but if he stands up, he's not sure his wobbly legs will even let him walk.

Chazz is quiet next to him, apparently basking. He doesn't seem to be in any hurry to get anywhere. His hand is still resting on Jimmy's thigh.

"This isn't normal," Jimmy says, his voice shaking a little.

Chazz sighs and rolls his eyes in Jimmy's direction. "Like you've ever been normal."

Maybe it's the hormones, but Jimmy abruptly feels like he's going to cry. No, of course he's never been normal. How could he be? He was plucked from the only home he'd ever known, given a new name, and tossed in front of a million cameras when he was four. He's never really kissed a girl. His father disowned him over ice skating. He just had sex with Chazz and really kind of loved it.

Chazz notices, somehow, and he squeezes Jimmy's leg just above the knee. "Hey, I'm not normal, either," he says, kind of defensively, so it's not like he's comforting Jimmy -- more like he's picking a fight with Jimmy. Like he's offering Jimmy a challenge.

Rising to it, Jimmy says, "I've never kissed anyone before."

Chazz snorts. "I lost my virginity when I was _ten_."

"My father forbade me to date for my entire life."

"I had gonorrhea in the eighth grade."

"I'd never seen a porn movie before."

"I made six of 'em before I could legally drink."

"My father disowned me and left me on the side of a highway."

"I don't even know who my father _is_. Neither did my mom."

"Women throw their panties at you."

"Little girls throw teddy bears at you. Nobody ever throws teddy bears at _me_."

"Shut up, Chazz," Jimmy finally says. He doesn't feel like crying anymore, although he still has plenty of reasons. Twice as many reasons, in fact. He is not the only orphan sitting here. He knows that about them, knows that they're actually the same in a lot of ways. That neither of them is normal. That neither of them ever has been.

"_You_ shut up," Chazz answers out of habit, his hand still heavy on Jimmy's leg.

That maybe that's okay.


End file.
